The Sound of Pulling Heaven Down
by Susannah Wilde
Summary: "Why not? I love you. Every book written about you states that love is so powerful, it helped you defeat Voldemort. If it's so powerful, then why should it matter what backgrounds two people come from if they are in love?" Harry Potter/Albus Severus Potter; brief Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy slash, two-shot. Warnings: Incest, Chan (40/15).
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Sound of Pulling Heaven Down  
**Author: **Susannah Wilde  
**Pairing(s)**Harry Potter/Albus Severus Potter; brief Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** Incest, Chan (40/15), OOC-ness  
**Word Count:** 6,017 words  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of JK Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic/Warner Bros., Inc. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.  
**Summary:** "Why not? I love you. Every book written about you states that love is so powerful, it helped you defeat Voldemort. If it's so powerful, then why should it matter what backgrounds two people come from if they are in love?"  
**Author's Notes:** Dear Anonymous prompter, this isn't quite what you wanted (I mis-read your prompt), but I hope you enjoy it just the same. Thanks to my quick beta, B. Thanks to the mods for hosting this fest. Title taken from the Blue October song of the same name.

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The Sound of Pulling Heaven Down

Harry sits back in his chair and casts a cleaning charm, the spell cool and welcome against his flushed skin.

"Have plans for Christmas?" Malfoy asks, as he buttons up his shirt.

"Al's coming home this year."

"He can't stay at Hogwarts?"

Harry runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "I'm worried about him. He's been distant since summer, his letters are brief, and a month ago he quit quidditch without any reason. I think it's best if he just comes home and I could figure out what's wrong."

"Still trying to save the world? Don't get yourself worked up over a Hufflepuff. The worst it can be is that someone doesn't love him." Malfoy smirks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"He's my son, Malfoy. Besides, you don't know a thing about love."

"I've never had any complaints." Harry glares at him before raising his wand to remove the red marks on his throat, but Malfoy pushes the wand away.

"Leave them as a reminder of what you're missing," he says, before attacking his lips again. Harry moans when Malfoy runs his hand along his throat, pressing on the bruises, the pain forcing him to open his mouth to let Malfoy slip his tongue in. They shift back in his chair, until Malfoy's arse settles over Harry's hard cock. Harry thinks about casting a Silencing charm, even if it is after hours on the last working day before Christmas hols, but a voice behind his desk stops him.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice calls out. "I brought Al home."

Harry opens his eyes to see Malfoy jumping off and casting a Disillusionment charm. Harry scrambles to fix the buttons on his shirt, wiping the evidence of this afternoon from his face. He takes a deep breath and hopes that he appears okay before he turns around.

His youngest son's face peers out from emerald flames and looks around the office until he sees Harry.

"Al, you're home! Sorry, I'm still at the office." He walks over to the fireplace, feeling Al's eyes on him as he crouched down.

"Yeah, Aunt Hermione had to leave because Hugo is sick," he says, looking at his face. "Are you okay? You look ill. Can I come through?"

_Shit._ How much did Al see, if anything at all? Harry knows that Malfoy is invisible, but he can't risk being found out, even if it is family.

"You don't have to. I didn't realize how late it is, but I'm coming home right now. Do you need anything?"

Al face falls, but he shakes his head.

"All right, I'll see you soon." Harry waits for a minute after the Floo call ends before returning to his desk.

"Malfoy," he calls out. From the door a voice says, "He knows. Go home and tell him. He's waiting for you."

Harry stills, the paperwork trembles in his hand. "Fuck off, Malfoy," he says, his voice cold.

When no reply comes, Harry grabs his cloak before Disapparating to his home.

Harry holds Minerva's letter and presses out the wrinkles from the parchment. Harry thinks his children have done well for themselves, despite their surname. James is hoping to sign with the Cannons as a Chaser. Lily, his youngest and only daughter, spends most of her free time following Hermione around at the Ministry.

That only left Al, who doesn't quite know what he wants to do with his life, but loved to dabble in art. Al had a spark that wouldn't be contained inside of an office; he was also not used to receiving praise or criticism well, even at a young age.

Harry still remembers the hastily written letter that had come well into the night on Al's first day at Hogwarts. The letter had been written by a trembling hand that proclaimed Al Sorted Hufflepuff, and a _Are you still proud of me?_ scrawled at the bottom.

Harry had called himself an idiot many times over, the conversation at King's Cross weighing heavily in his mind as he lay awake, trying to mend things. He had been desperate, until Ginny told him to just go visit Al. So he did, right after making a quick stop at Madam Malkins.

Entering the Great Hall doors for the first time in years had sent a thrill through Harry, and as he walked down the tables, the whispers had begun. But Harry only searched for Al, and he found him sitting next to a black-haired boy who said, "Merlin, it's Harry Potter!"

Al had turned, with a confused glance, and his jaw dropped when he stared at his father wearing a Hufflepuff school robe.

"Close your mouth, Al," Harry had said, sitting down and reaching for an apple.

"What are you doing here?"

"Let's just say I've come to admire the view?" He looked out at the crowd. "Did you know one of Hogwart's Tri-Wizard champions was a Hufflepuff? He was one of the finest people I knew."

Harry's heart had warmed to see the smile light up Al's face.

Now, he just wants to do anything to bring back that smile.

Harry walks into the kitchen and leans against the counter, staring at Al as he ate from a plate of biscuits and fruit. Al is hunched over the table, drawing in his sketchbook, the pencil clenched tightly in his hand. He has a way of ignoring the world whenever he drew, and more than once Harry had wanted to ask Al for a peek inside his mind. Maybe then he could figure out why Al fascinated him more than is proper.

"Is that a dragon, Al?" There are dozens of Al's sketches hanging over the house; of family portraits or of landscapes of the trips they took to the sea. From the brief glance at Al's paper, Harry sees harsh scarlet and gold flames licking the bright blue sky.

Al drops his pencil, but doesn't turn around. "Yeah, Uncle Charlie brought a baby dragon to class and I've been trying to remember how it looked." He shrugs his shoulders. "It's not coming out right," he says, closing the sketchbook. Al picks up a biscuit and takes a bite, glancing around the kitchen.

Harry sits down next to him. "You're kidding, right? I wouldn't be surprised if you sold a piece soon." Al's inability to accept compliments sometimes unnerves him.

"Do you even live here?"

Harry's eyebrows rise at the strange question. Al has a way that reminds him of a young Luna, in the way a simple remark would have him stop and figure out exactly what he is being asked.

"I sure hope so or else there'd be some Aurors appearing soon." Harry forces a chuckle, but stops when Al doesn't join in.

"It just looks like you haven't been home in a while." Al grabs an orange and starts peeling it.

The warm feeling in the room vanishes and Harry feels as if he's trapped underwater with the giant squid slowly squeezing his body. He tries to keep calm and not fidget, especially around Al, who could sense a person's emotional state.

"Of course I live here, Al. I don't have much of a life outside of work now that the Wizengamot is back in session."

Al peels his orange in one long loop. "So, you're not seeing anyone?" He finally asks, looking straight at him for the first time that night. The green eyes are too large for his thin face, giving Al an owlish appearance.

Under Al's intense stare, Harry freezes, the words he had been about to say stuck in his throat. Malfoy and he had taken many precautions, never meeting outside the office or the privacy of their own homes. No one, not even Al, no matter what Malfoy says, knew about their arrangement.

Al takes his hand and turns it over, the acidic juice stinging a small cut on his palm. "It's okay if you are. Mum has been dead for over three years," he says quietly.

Harry takes a deep breath and gives Al a grim smile. "I loved your mother very much, and there are some days where I miss her, especially when I see her in all of you. However, there is no one else," he says firmly.

He expects Al to be relieved, seeing as he and Ginny were very close and her sudden death affected him the most. Yet nothing prepares him for the disappointment he sees in Al's eyes, the way his shoulders slump as he quickly takes his hands away.

"Oh, I just thought-never mind. Chris must have been wrong." Al says, gathering his sketchbook to leave.

Harry briefly thinks of his son's best friend, before pulling Al back by his jumper and turning him around. He lifts Al's chin, ignoring the warmth where their skin touches, and looks at him more closely.

"Al, look at me," Harry says, brushing the black fringe off his son's eyes, but Al refuses.

He tries again. "What did Chris say?" Al flinches and that convinces Harry to force the issue or else Al would keep it bottled up inside.

"Nothing. Let me go, please."

"No Albus," Harry says, and pulls him closer, the need to comfort overtaking everything else. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"He just said that you-" Al lets out a huge breath that tickles Harry's ear. "Never mind; it's not that important."

But Harry doesn't want him to stop; he had been so close and it frustrates him that Al stops at the last minute. "Albus, talk to me! I feel like I'm losing you and I don't know why. You're changing. Your letters are distant, you've quit quidditch on a whim; even Minerva's written me a letter once your grades started slipping. Is it something I've done?" Harry wouldn't even know how to being to ask for forgiveness.

Al inhales deeply, pressing more into Harry's chest. "It's not you, it's me," he says sadly.

Harry scoffs at that. Al doesn't intentionally hurt anyone, and if he did, he apologised. "Don't be ridiculous, Al. Let me talk to his parents."

"No!" Al bunches his hands against Harry's chest, and then blurts out, "I kissed him!"

Harry stills, his mind warring with the streak of protectiveness he has for his family combined with the jealousy that Al had finally found somebody. Only then does he realise how long it has taken to reassure Al.

"Al, there is nothing wrong with you. You're perfect!"

The look Al gives him makes Harry want to rip out his heart.

"Yes there _is_!" he insists, reaching up to tug at his hair, a habit he does whenever he is nervous. "Last summer I realised something when Grandma asked why I didn't have a girlfriend. I didn't mind it when Jamie and Lily teased, but when I got back to Hogwarts, it got worse. Do you know what it is like to have girls follow you around, asking you to be their boyfriend? And I tried, taking Jessica to Madam Puddifoots, just to get them off my back. She's very sweet, but when I kissed her, I felt nothing. After Jessica, I dated other girls, but they had all these expectations from the son of the great Harry Potter, things they'd seen from Jamie. And I felt guilty when I disappointed them, so much that I couldn't sleep. Yet, even when I did sleep there was always that same person-"

Al stops; his face is flushed from speaking too long without pausing to take a breath.

"It's Chris, right?" Harry asks him. "Al, what did he do?"

Al takes a deep breath. "At the Halloween ball," Al says and Harry nods for him to continue. "He asked me why I'm such a wallflower, even with girls coming up and asking me to dance. He said that if he didn't know better, he would say that I thought I was too good for them."

Al stares out the window as if embarrassed with the next part. "But I wasn't, not really. I thought I could tell him anything, so when I saw him in the loo, I kissed him." Al turns to stare at Harry. "And I immediately regretted it. The way Chris stared at me, called me queer, as if I were worse than the scum stuck on the bottom of his shoes."

Harry could just imagine it; the large space that would magnify the sounds and the mirrors that reflect everything, even Al's humiliation.

"That's not the worst part. He told me that I must disappoint you."

Harry's resolve breaks and he gathers Al in his arms. "Al you could ever disappoint me."

"You don't even know the half of it," he whispers.

"There is nothing wrong with being gay. It's just part of the bigotry that never died with the war." Harry knows he's said the wrong thing when Al tenses in his arms.

"Then why do _you_ hide it!" Al shouts, his eyes bright as he pushes Harry away. "If you say it's all right, then why don't I know anyone who's gay? Why is it a secret?"

"I want to keep all of you safe!" Harry shouts back and hugs him tighter, preventing Al from letting go. Al reaches out with his hands, clawing at anything to be set free. He pulls on the collar of Harry's shirt, tearing several buttons off to reveal the red marks at the base of his throat.

Al's eyes widen and he slides a finger over the bruises, pushing it in. A thrill of pain shoots outward and Harry grabs his wand.

Before Harry could cast the charm to remove the marks, or even begin to form an explanation, Al kisses him hard, desperate.

In the brief moment of surprise, Harry allows himself to forget, allows his mind to shut down and enjoy this kiss. It isn't brilliant, but Harry feels an open mouth, warm and slick, with a tongue slipping in to explore.

Harry breaks off, pushing Al away. What was he _doing_?

Al stands back in a daze, bringing his right hand to touch his kissed-bruised lips. His chest rises and falls quickly, sharp inhales of breath that forces Harry to grab his arms to keep him steady.

"Al, say something. Tell me you're okay." Panic blooms in Harry's chest until Al finally looks at him. Relieved, Harry asks the first thing on his mind.

"Why did you kiss me, Al?"

"Because you were in my dreams," Al says. "I want you."

Harry's stomach flips at those words. As much as it thrills Harry to hear them, he can't accept this. It is almost too easy in the way Al just sits there and tells him everything he wants to hear.

"Al, we can't do this. It's not right."

"Why not? I love you. Every book written about you states that love is so powerful, it helped you defeat Voldemort. If it's so powerful, then why should it matter what backgrounds two people come from if they are in love?"

"How do you know it's not misplaced lust?"

Al pulls away and leans against the table with his arms crossed. "I used to think that, back when we had to go to all those Ministry functions and everyone would shower you with praise about how brave and wonderful you were. I used to think that I wanted someone like that, who had all of those qualities, and I would follow you everywhere, hoping to find a friend like that. Just before Mum died, somehow she guessed that I was gay. She told me to talk to you, that you were gay, too. But I never got the courage to tell you. Then after she died, when you put everything on hold just to get us through our grief, while keeping yours hidden. I knew I didn't want someone just like you." Al turns back to look at him. "I just wanted you."

"Al, you don't know that you're asking."

"I guess I'm just asking you to love me."

"I do, Al," Harry starts to say, but Al shakes his head.

"Not like your son, but like you would a lover."

Those words send a shiver down Harry's spine. And maybe that's why he seeks someone who's completely different from Al, like Malfoy is, to punish himself for even wanting Al. However, if Al was offering this small taste of heaven, would it be wrong to accept it?

Harry looks at Al and thinks that yes, he would take it. As Al stares up at him, Harry ponders the enormity of what Al is asking of him. Being gay in the Wizarding World, with all the bigotry still alive, is close enough to being damned, that most witches and wizards refused to come out. The Ministry wants everything in a tidy package. It is the reason why Draco Malfoy took a wife, and why he himself never remarried after Ginny's death, even if there had been many offers. It is a piss poor excuse, Harry knows, but he didn't want Al to be hurt if he could prevent it

Harry opens his mouth, but Al cuts him off.

"You can keep asking questions, and I'll keep answering them, but that won't deter me from what I actually want."

"And this is what you want?" Harry holds out Al at arm's length. His son stares back with his head held high.

"More than anything," Harry swallows hard. Al always had a tendency to never sway from a decision once he makes it.

"Al right," Harry says and at those words, Al smiles brightly.

"Thank you."

"Go get your wand and meet me in my bedroom." Al gives him a curious look, but Harry waves him off. A shot of Firewhiskey would do wonders to calm his nerves, but it wouldn't be fair to Al. He sets to leave the kitchen when he sees the sketchbook; he flips it open to where the pencil is stuck between two pages.

It is not a dragon as he had first thought, but a phoenix in flight. Once Al adds the colours to the phoenix and the plumage comes alive, it will be beautiful.

If this is what Al wants, and it's been made clear many times, then it won't be the quick fuck he usually has with Malfoy or the unknown men before him. With this thought in mind, he walks around the house, checks the strength of the wards and adds locking spells at each door and window for good measure. He closes the Floo connection and with nothing stopping him, he makes his way to his bedroom and stops short.

Al is spread out on Harry's bed with a white bed sheet draped over his body. His has one arm folded behind his head, humming a soft tune as he stares at the ceiling that is charmed to reflect the sky outside.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry stumbles back against the doorjamb. Merlin, Al looks so _young_, the only child who's cursed to share the same appearance as the hero. Had he looked like this at fifteen? Granted, he was too busy fighting a war, but he is certain that he had never had the sweet disposition or the delicacy that graces Al's features.

From beneath the mess of black curls is pale skin with a dusting of freckles, pale pink lips pressed in thin line, and green eyes peeking from underneath thick, black lashes. The only thing out of place was the tented sheet.

Harry swallows hard before he walks into the room, toeing his shoes off at the foot of the bed. The humming stops as Al turns to look at him, his hand reaching down to fling the bed sheet off. _No_, Harry thinks. Al has to have one last chance to turn away, to let him see what he's offering himself to. It's only fair. Taking a deep to steady his nerves, Harry Vanishes his clothes.

The sudden cold air makes his skin prickle with goose bumps, but it is Al's sharp gasp that sends a chill down Harry's spine. Al studies him with an artist's eye, going carefully through every inch of Harry's body, no doubt visualizing his own appearance in twenty-five years.

Harry has no romantic notions of what he looks like now, despite the handful of lovers he's had that would disagree. Only Malfoy has complaints, but Harry could care less about the git's opinion. The only feature that has withstood the test of time are his eyes, still brilliant green. However, there are now crow's feet at the corners along with deeply etched lines on his forehead that came from presiding over the Wizengamot. He still had the mess of black hair, now tinged with grey. His skin is battered and not quite firm, especially around his middle, and his chest is a collection of scars and ugly burns, a product from the war.

Yet despite all his flaws, Al looks at him with a longing, as if Harry is a treasure he has discovered.

The world turns blurry as he takes his wire-framed glasses off and sets them on the nightstand.

"Are you not- I mean- Don't you want to see?" Al says, the first time he sounds so unsure.

Oh, he _does_. He's wanted to see Al underneath him, sweat-drenched skin, hair tousled, pupils blown wide, holding onto him as those pretty pink lips scream his name, for far longer than he's cared to admit. It is the reason he never wore glasses in bed, to better imagine the black-haired youth he would hire as Al sucking him off.

"I've put a vision charm on," he says instead.

The mattress dips as Harry climbs to settle on his back, feeling the warmth of Al's smooth skin when they touch shoulders. A small spark shoots out, but Harry keeps staring at the sky. The sunset has streaked the sky in scarlet and gold, reminding of his responsibilities.

"You know you can never tell anyone about this."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry sees a quick nod, barely enough, and then "I know. I wont," added as an afterthought. Harry knows there is no possibility of this coming out, seeing as they're both good at keeping secrets. Yet, he can't help but to add a safeguard.

"That doesn't mean I'm leaving you without a way out. If at any point you want to stop- something makes you uncomfortable, or if I hurt you-"

"You couldn't hurt me. I want this." Al stares hungrily at him, and Harry's cock twitches at those words, ready to reach out and grab Al to do anything as long as it was right _now_. His mind, however makes one last attempt to keep control.

"You have your wand?" Al shakes his head, sending a tumble of back curls to cover his forehead. Harry reaches over and gives his holly wand to Al. When Al's slender fingers curl against the wood, the wand gives off a flare of magic.

"Take mine. If I hurt you, you use it, and I will stop-"

"I promise," Al says before rolling onto Harry's chest and crashing their lips together. Their noses hit awkwardly as Al turns his head, searching for the right angle to kiss better. Al nibbles on Harry's bottom lip, waiting until Harry moans to slip his tongue inside. The taste of citrus is strange, but not unwelcome, because it will always remind him of their first kiss in bed. There he goes, Harry thinks. He must be in deeper than he thought if he's starting to think of everything they do together as firsts. Harry is quickly losing control, but for once he doesn't mind, because Merlin, does Al has a penchant for taking him by surprise.

Al pulls back, until just their foreheads press against each other, and grins. "You need to know when to stop talking. Just relax." Al cups both hands on either side of Harry's face, sliding thumbs across the stubble jawline, until they slide against his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair.

"Unless you're into pain. That I can do for you." Al pulls until Harry's staring at the evening sky, shivering as Al places open-mouth kisses along the side of his exposed throat. The pain isn't great, but it's just enough to get a strangled cry from him as he shift's Al's body between his legs.

"Al," he hisses as the warmth of his pick presses into his thigh, separated only by the bed sheet. Harry struggles to place his hand on the small of Al's back to keep him there.

"So _good_," Al breathes. The cotton fabric chafes his hard cock, a soft twist of pain that makes him want to find quick release. He lets go of Harry's hair and runs his hands along shoulders and arms, feeling the muscles shift beneath the tan skin.

"Did you know that I've wanted this for so long?" Al leans down and kisses him, before moving to lick the sensitive spot behind his ear. "Just because I'm a Hufflepuff doesn't mean I haven't thought about what I'd do to you if you ever said yes," Al pants, hot breath tickling Harry's ear.

_That_ sends Harry's thought process off on another tangent, not even feeling the pain when Al bites him once along his collarbone. If inflicting pain is one of Al's kinks, then what else could he be into?

"I can see that," Harry says, as one hand slips down his chest. "What do you want?"

Harry briefly mourns the loss of contact as Al sits back, until he feels warm fingers travel through his chest hair. Every now and then, a finger would find a scar and he would trace the rough pattern with a nail.

"Not sure what to go with first," he admits, biting the inside of his cheek. "I've always wanted you to suck me off, ever since I overheard Jamie telling Teddy about his girlfriend."

Harry closes his eyes and groans, but it does nothing to stop the images from flashing beneath his eyelids. He doesn't want to think right now, especially not about family, not when his own cock is hard and demanding attention.

In an effort to regain control, he wraps an arm around Al's back, holding him securely into his chest, before rolling them over. Al lets out a yelp and falls back on the bed. The tumble presses their cocks together and a low moan escapes from Harry's mouth when he looks down at Al.

"You're beautiful." Al looks away as if not quite believing it, but there is a small smile on his face.

In his career as Chief Warlock, Harry has had to give the court's opinion on many verdicts handed down by the Wizengamot. He knew how powerful words could be used to appease the public when a vote didn't go a certain way. For once in his life, he doesn't think he can find words to adequately describe the vision that Al presents. But he can give it a colour: red.

His pale skin is now deeply flushed, starting from just below his throat and spreading down towards his smooth chest. His lips are red, bruised and bitten, as he tries to keep silent. Twin blotches of red paint his cheeks from the stubble burn. The reddest is Al's cock, smaller than his, but standing straight from the patch of black curls.

Green eyes follow his as Harry reaches forward to take the fringe away as beads of perspiration start to trail down his face.

"Beautiful," he repeats, pressing his hand on Al's chest, where he feels the heart flutter like a frantic bird, desperate to escape. His kiss cuts off whatever Al starts to say, and now it's his turn to finally feel everything.

Al still has the lithe body of a Seeker, muscles less defined, but still hard when Harry runs both hands along the smooth chest. He hums when he finds no scars or burns that mar Al's skin, happy at the thought that Al will never have to experience the horrors he did. The two nipples harden when Harry pulls on them, letting Al gasp into his mouth as the pain increases. The young body arches Harry's, trapping both of their cocks between their stomachs.

Harry's mouth dries when his hand reaches between them, brushing past the head that is slick with precome, and takes Al around the base. He slides down Al's body, keeping the green eyes in sight as he settles between the slim legs.

"I'm going to suck you now."

"Finally," Al says and squirms under him, trying to move where he feels hot breath. Harry inhales and leans down, tongue pressing gently on the spongy head.

"Ah, 's nice," Al thrust up to slide further into the mouth, hot and slick, but strong hands hold his hips into the mattress. Harry licks the slit, enjoying the slightly bitter taste, before pressing the flat of his tongue on the vein on the underside of the cock.

"Daddy, please," Al whimpers, hands grabbing fistfuls of hair to push him down. Harry's eyes widen in surprise from hearing that word. James calls him Chief, and Lily, who sorted Slytherin, calls him, of all things, Potter. Only Al says Daddy. Of course he hadn't expected Al to call him Harry, but fuck does it sound _right_ coming from those red lips.

Harry hollows his cheeks as he goes slowly down. A small misstep, when Al twitches inside his mouth, and his teeth accidentally scrapes the tender skin. Al hisses something that reminds Harry faintly of Parseltongue, forcing his way past Harry's gag reflex. Harry's eyes water as he chokes and he hears a soft "sorry" from above as he slows down to take shallow breaths through his nose.

He reaches down and takes Al's balls, rolling them in his hand before Harry begins to lick and suck up and down the length, using the noises Al makes as a guide. His mouth aches, but he doesn't stop, until Al stiffens and shoves his head away with a grunt.

Al screams and comes, in long white ribbons that splash onto his stomach and chest. A bit of come lands on Harry's throat and he wipes it off before putting into his mouth. Like all the others he's tasted, it's salty and bitter, but made more welcome by the fact that it's Al's.

He presses his fingers on heated skin, ignoring Al's quivers. Harry traces curlicue patterns all over Al's chest, seeing the red flushed skin beneath the white come. The liquid drips down his fingers and Al opens his mouth to lick it off. When Al finally pulls away, he wrinkles his nose. "It's not quite what I expected."

Al reaches for Harry's prick, but his hand is pushed away.

"I'm going to come inside you," he says, before flipping Al onto his knees, desperate to find his own release. The paleness of Al's arse contrasts with Harry's dark hand as he massages it, looking at the dusting of freckles. Harry spreads the cheeks open until he's treated to the sight of Al's hole, leaning down to inhale the musky scent mixed with soap. He wishes he could open Al using his tongue, but he doesn't think he'll hold out any longer.

He grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand and slicks his fingers generously, before tracing the rim to coax it open. Al impatiently pushes against Harry's finger, allowing him to slip a knuckle inside the tight ring of muscles. When he pulls out, he gets a brief glance of the red skin inside before it starts to close. He repeats the gesture, adding another finger after a few minutes.

Al hisses, reaching down with one hand to bat it away.

"You're doing good now. It may sting, but I promise that you'll feel none of it soon," Harry calms him.

By the third finger, Harry finds the walnut-sized bundle of nerves, when Al cants off the bed. Watching Al lose control is intoxicating, Harry thinks, as Al grabs fistfuls of the bed sheet, knuckles white, while sweat trails down his back. He pulls harder at the bundle of nerves and smiles as Al lets out a string of expletives, arching off the bed.

Feeling the burst of energy that spreading from the bottom of his stomach, he quickly spreads lube on his cock. His breath increases as he hears the sound of skin on skin, and he takes out his fingers from the loosened hole.

"I want to see you," Harry says, grasping Al's hips to turn him onto his back. He grabs Al's slim legs and places them on his shoulders, before lining his cock at the entrance.

"Move," Al hisses from between clenched teeth. He pushes inside, his breath catching on how tight Al feels, and he briefly wonders why he hasn't done this earlier.

Until Al gives a sharp cry that sends a knife into his heart.

Harry stops and looks down to see Al's eyes screwed shut, white teeth biting down on his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood.

"Albus, Al," Harry soothes, "I'm stopping."

"No," came the mangled response.

"I'm hurting you. We agreed to stop if I hurt you-"

A sharp jab directly over his heart forces him to stop. He looks down to find his own wand held in shaky hands and then turns to see Al's eyes. Up close, Al has a look of desperation that mirrors Harry, both stuck on their needs.

He breathes shallowly, and through the tears that threaten to spill, Al manages to say,"It will hurt more if you take this away from me." He reaches out, grasping at thin air until Harry reaches forward and threads their fingers together.

"Okay," he agrees and Al drops the wand. He tries again, and stops every time Al makes a noise of pain. He goes slower, making sure to brush against the prostate on each stroke, as Al holds onto his arms to take him in deeper. They continue in this frenzied pattern of gasps and moans breaking the silence, until Al lets out a strangled cry of "Daddy!" the fresh come splashing over their stomachs and chests. Harry follows soon after as he spills deep inside Al, before falling on Al's warm body.

Harry could spend the rest of eternity listening to his son's heartbeat, a pleasant idea, while Al absentmindedly cards his fingers through Harry's hair. He's about to pull out and clean them both, when Al gives a soft whimper, stopping Harry in his tracks.

"Don't," Al says. "Stay."

Al wraps his arms around Harry's neck, pulling them closer together, his legs curled just above the hipbone, so that when Harry rolls them over, Al's hardening cock is pressed tight against Harry's stomach.

Puffs of warm air tickle him just below his jawline until Al grabs a patch of skin, biting and sucking.

"Trying to claim me as your own, Al?" he asks.

His voice comes out a little raspy and muffled against Harry's throat. "I want to know that all of this is real. That it really happened, and when I wake up in the morning, it wasn't just a dream."

"You don't regret this?" and Harry hates that he's trying to reassure himself, when it should be the other way around.

"I kissed you, didn't I?" Al runs a finger along the edge of Harry's collarbone. "I was jealous when I saw the marks there earlier. I knew you had found someone, but I wanted it to be me."

"Only you," Harry promises, "for as long as you want."

Harry holds Al, curled up on his chest, head tucked under his jaw, just like when he was young and sick with colic and the only way to settle Al was to hold him tight and never let go. He pulls the duvet over both of them, and as Al gently falls asleep, Harry lays there, looking up at the night sky.


End file.
